Is football your attitude? ELEVEN attitudes




And another Beckham outing

It was during the last summer, when we got to know eachother in a nightclub called “Peking duck” in Seoul. He, David Beckham that is, was on a tour through Asia with the Baiser Real Madrid and I was working with Mr Li, my interpretor for south-corean, who had introduced me to another Mr Li, coincidentally his brother in law, who took care of the Real stars.
We talked about Asian food, SARS, the Misters Li and Li, about the fear of flying and free kicks. Just a half hour later the wing-deity whispered in my ear: “I don´t do this usually but would you come up to my hotel room a little later?”
Admitted, I was flabbergasted, Styrian bloke which I am, drank some snake schnaps to get a hold of myself and took a couple of tiger penis pills and monkey tail pills, which another - a different - Mr Li had talked me in to at the airport for the eventuality of wanting to perform things I don´t usually do and found myself dashing off like a middle forward from the wing right into the penalty area called Shangri-La-Hotel, where David was waiting for me in the offside.
Pst, didn´t he close his lips with his finger, he wouldn´t do this usually?
He guided me through his suite to his bed and started to kiss and caress me. Cucumber! He plunged his hand down my pants and I recognized immediately that I had taken far too much of the powdered tiger and monkey jewels. Goal robbery! Yellow card! Despite that almost everything was perfect, very passionate, sensual, close man-to-man cover, with tremendous spin and maneuvers we got to know eachother and if he wouldn´t have demanded penalty shots repeatedly and yelled out “Foul” and “Out” this could have been really wonderful.
Afterwards we lighted up Havannas, thought of poor chubby Diego Maradona, who wasn´t doing that well at that time already, and David who was probably thinking of his wife said: “You know, I love Victoria, but it´s more like brother and sister. I don´t find her as attractive anymore as I used to, she´s so thin.” Mhm, I thought, not spiced-off enough, patting my tummy, pulling it in and pushing it out again. Just before I realized what that could lead to he already called the concierge and ordered Russian champagne and French caviar, “for the falseness of the false often turns out to be more real than the real thing”. His driver was sent off to fetch more condoms, after all the night was young and we were merely on a half time break.

As young as the night was as thin were the walls of the hotel. Suddenly Beck´s doctrinaire team mate Ronaldo stood at the door and yelled: “Stop! David! Think of Victoria, think of your children.“ Presumably this was a diversionary tactic because parallel to this Roberto Carlos and Luis Figo had taken posession of a gondola for cleaning windows, in which they now appeared on the outer glass storefront of the suite to intonate “My pony is over the ocean”.
At the same time Zinedine Zidane had been creeping in the ventilation system of the Shangri-La where he had meditated so loud that his monastic Om resonated from all the grids.
The rest of the team was busy getting totally wasted on rice schnaps. As if that would not have been enough, to top things off, Raul had informed all my pursuers who were now pounding at the door arguing about the publication rights screeching: “Hang in there, Franzobel, this will be a bestseller. Finally! The TV rights are sold already, after that we´ll make a movie I don´t do this usually, a musical.”
As I woke up, frightened by all this opulence, I found a glossy mag next to me which shared insight on Beckham´s crazy adventures on several pages. Obviously I had fallen asleep over the magazine. Serves you right, I thought and picked up the frantically ringing phone, a voice whispering: “If something gets out I will be in deep trouble.”


© by Franzobel

Translated by Alexander Moore, 9.6.2004